Vidui
by Marguerite1
Summary: In past years he had carried sins enough to confess, sins both petty and great, transgressions against God's ordinances and those of men.


**VIDUI**

Classification: Stand-alone, a little too long to be a vignette. Toby POV.   
Summary: In past years he had carried sins enough to confess, sins both petty and great,   
transgressions against God's ordinances and those of men. 

Notes: The story takes place the week of 9/24/01, obviously ignoring the tragic events of the   
real world. This year, Yom Kippur - the day of atonement - falls on September 27. "Vidui"   
is the communal confession during Yom Kippur services, which contains the sins listed in   
the story. "Kol Nidrei" is the Aramaic chant that opens the Yom Kippur service, where Jews   
ask God to dissolve the vows made rashly or unwisely between themselves and God. The   
prayer Charlie says at the end is quoted from the Union (Reform) prayerbook of 1921. If I   
have my grandfather's copy, then I bet Toby has his grandfather's, too. 

With thanks to The West Thing for, well, you know. 

*** 

Wednesday 5:50 p.m. 

He chose a pew in the shadows where his face could be hidden from all but God's gaze. By   
right of his position and his generosity he could have taken a seat anywhere in the   
sanctuary, but Toby chose as dark a place as he could find. Not even his rabbi's searching   
eyes could find him here. And any members of the press - who would and could resort to   
following him in search of column inches about a Bartlet staffer's quest for forgiveness -   
would be unable to photograph him in his tenebrous hiding place. 

In past years he had carried sins enough to confess, sins both petty and great,   
transgressions against God's ordinances and those of men. It was the sheer weight of this   
year's wrongdoings that drove him to this dark corner of his synagogue, where he was   
unsure whether to pray for absolution or anonymity. He placed his worn prayerbook in his   
lap, preferring its archaic language to the modernized version of the "new" siddur, and   
opened the yellowing pages to the evening service for Yom Kippur. 

The synagogue walls glowed where they were touched by the fading sunlight, a warmth that   
belied the seriousness of the occasion. From somewhere off to one side Toby heard a 'cello   
sobbing the opening notes of Bruch's "Kol Nidrei." Later, the entire congregation would   
participate in the chant that would annul the vows made to themselves and to God, but for   
now Toby was content to sit in brooding contemplation and listen to the aching beauty of   
the music. 

Sitting with his fingertips shielding his burning eyes, he let his thoughts turn to those   
he had sought out over the past few days. His mother had once said that Toby should start   
his apologies a week earlier than the rest of Judaism combined, and he took her advice to   
heart. Every year he did this, always making certain to cover as many of the upcoming   
confessions so that his conscience would not pain him as he stood with the congregation   
and admitted his faults. 

He dreaded it every year. He dreaded the heart palpitations, the sweaty palms, the   
claustrophobia and the claws of panic rending his garment as if he were in mourning. He   
dreaded it because it made him feel weak and vulnerable. He dreaded putting it off until   
the last minute, but since he dreaded it in the first place, he ended up doing everything   
at the last minute and making it all worse. 

And his first attempt hadn't made him feel any better. 

*** 

Two days earlier (Monday)   
9:40 p.m. 

For the sin that we have sinned against Thee under stress or through choice...   


The mess was dark and cavernous by night, a quiet, discreet place that the senior staff   
often chose when they needed to pull away from one another. Toby was familiar enough with   
the layout to know where Sam would be sitting. The surprise was that Sam had eschewed his   
usual laptop and was scribbling notes on a napkin. 

"You know those are cloth, not paper," Toby said as he shrugged out of his jacket and took   
a seat across from Sam. 

Sam jerked backwards and tugged at the napkin. It shredded between his fingers. He glared   
at Toby, who smirked. "It's paper, Toby." 

"That seems to be what it is." 

"I was writing." 

"Here." Toby pushed a pile of napkins toward Sam. "Knock yourself out." 

With a sigh, Sam capped his pen and placed it on the table, idly spinning it back and   
forth with his index finger. "What'd you need to see me about?" he asked as he watched the   
pen's silvery dance. 

"About the drop-in," Toby said haltingly, "that I dumped into your speech to the   
environmentalists." 

Sam took off his glasses and for an instant Toby saw the same distrust and pain that had   
haunted him for weeks after they had argued. "That was months ago, Toby," Sam said, his   
voice weary. "And you bought me three beers, then paid for a cab to take me home. What   
more could I ask?" 

"I appreciate the sentiment, Sam, I really do. But there were other things during this   
past year, other times when I didn't...show you the respect I have for you." 

"Like when you wouldn't listen to me on why not to go public with the MS? Look how well   
that's worked out." 

When had Sam's voice become so bitter, so edgy? When had he lost the boundless optimism,   
the sense of adventure, the wholehearted devotion to his sense of right? When had he lost   
his essential...Samness? 

Toby heard Sam's harsh breathing in the half-empty room and saw the cold-fired anger in   
his eyes. 

"You're right, Sam. I've treated you like shit and you didn't deserve it. You're entitled   
to your outrage." He rubbed his forehead, looking at Sam's scowling visage and wondering   
if the dark circles would become a permanent fixture above his sharp cheekbones. 

"Well, thank you for your largesse. And if you'll excuse me, I've got more of Josh's and   
CJ's statements to work on." Sam put his glasses back on and looked down at the napkin,   
but he froze with his pen in mid-air, obviously wanting to be left alone. 

Toby started to get up but instead folded his hands on the table. "I had my doubts when   
Josh first brought you into the campaign. I had suits older than you, Sam. But I've   
watched you work, from the stump speeches to the acceptance speech to your part of the   
inaugural, and now..." His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat and tried to make   
Sam look at him, but to no avail. "Now I truly believe you are one of the most gifted   
writers in the last thirty years, Sam, and it's an honor to work with you." 

There was no response. The time had been where the simplest "good job" from Toby would   
have made Sam blush and stammer, but now there was nothing but icy stillness as if Sam   
were made of marble and had no color to him, no animation. No sign that Toby's hard-won   
respect had any more meaning than a weather report. 

Toby rose, fighting back the rising sense of panic, and walked out of the mess. His feet   
were leaden as he went back upstairs. Sam, always the first to forgive, the first to show   
his love by accepting apologies with gratitude and grace, was lost to him. Sam was lost to   
him. 

*** 

Tuesday   
10:15 a.m. 

For the sin that we have sinned against thee openly or in secret...   


"Toby, I really wish you wouldn't do this," Josh whined, rubbing his forehead with the   
heel of one hand and pounding his other fist on a haphazard pile of blue folders. "I feel   
inadequate enough without you rubbing my face in the...lapsedness...of my Judaism." 

"And you wonder why we don't let you write anything," Toby drawled as he leaned against   
the door of Josh's office with his hands in his pockets. "Lapsedness. You're as bad as   
that moron governor in Texas." 

"Hey!" 

"You always do this, Josh, you always make it impossible for me to ask forgiveness because   
you end up pissing me off instead. That's what you do." 

Secretly, Toby almost looked forward to his annual confession to Josh if for no other   
reason than it made Josh squirm - something few men could accomplish. 

"Toby." Josh sat up and folded his hands in front of him, gasping a little as he   
continued. "Just get it the hell over with, okay?" 

Toby wished that Josh had a couch in his office, or a decent chair, or something other   
than the edge of a table for him to sit on. He perched awkwardly between two boxes of   
envelopes, feeling the formica give way slightly to his bulk. "You have the most   
uncomfortable damn office in the whole White House. Ainsley's got better furniture than   
you." 

"Yeah, well, people don't tend to stay too long this way and I kinda like it." Toby could   
feel the full wattage of Josh's intelligent gaze focused on him. "Wow. Whatever you're   
trying to tell me, it must be bad." 

"It's not the usual 'Hey, Josh, I'm sorry I called you a putz' kind of conversation, no." 

"I can tell." Josh put his elbows on the desk and rested his chin in his hands. "So, what   
is it that's so bad you came into my office and closed the door and are looking at me like   
you just ran over my mother?" 

"In a way, I almost did run over your mother." Toby had a vivid memory of Marjorie Lyman   
in the hospital waiting room, wanting to take out the lungs of whoever had allowed her son   
to be shot. "I'm responsible for what happened to you, Josh. For the shooting, for all of   
it." 

"You're a member of West Virginia White Pride?" Josh deadpanned. 

"Shut up. You need to, you know, shut up and listen to me." Toby looked at the place on   
Josh's wall where the silhouette of a target used to be. "I ordered the Secret Service to   
stop using canopies when the President left public buildings." 

"No, you didn't. The President told us that he wasn't gonna use them--" 

"But it was my memo. I sent a memo to Ron and the rest of the guys, telling them not to   
use the canopy. If I hadn't done that.--" 

"If you hadn't done that, then Leo would have, or he'd have made me do it, and wouldn't   
that be ironic?" 

Their laughter was sharp and brief, like a gunshot. They both flinched. 

"And that's not all, Josh. I saw what...forgive me for bringing this up, but I saw what   
was happening to you last December and I didn't tell anyone about it." 

"You told Stanley Keyworth," Josh said evenly. 

"I didn't tell him soon enough. I didn't tell Leo. I meant to talk to CJ but she was   
distracted with that thing with the painting. I just...let it go. And I almost let you go   
in the process." 

"Toby." Josh held his hands out, palms upward, and Toby could see the thin white scar   
across Josh's right hand. "It wasn't you. I wasn't leaving clues. I didn't really know   
what was happening, myself." 

"Thank God for Donna," Toby said softly. "She made Leo listen to her. She tried to tell me   
but I shooed her away." 

"For which you'll be apologizing to her...?" 

"Tomorrow. I'm saving the assistants for tomorrow." 

"You better have your whole calendar clear, then. I've heard Ginger and Bonnie talking   
about a list they're drawing up of everything you've said since last September." 

"You're doing it again, Josh." 

"Yeah." Josh paused. "It's a defense mechanism. For when I don't want to talk about   
things. You know that about me." 

"I do. I do. And I'm going now. I just wanted you to know...if you'd have come to me, I   
could've done something, I could've...done something." 

Josh swiveled in his chair, his gaze focused on some point outside his window. "You tried   
to overturn the Constitution for me, Toby. That wasn't enough?" 

Toby couldn't imagine what he would have done if he'd had to look Josh in the eye at that   
moment, and gratitude washed over him as Josh continued to keep his back turned. He could   
see Josh's face reflected in the glass, with high spots of color on his cheeks and his   
eyelids half-lowered. 

"Thank you, Josh. It means..." Toby's hands fluttered in the air for a moment, then landed   
back at his sides. "I need all the friends I can get." 

"Sam's still pretty pissed, huh?" 

"Yeah." 

Josh turned back to him, his expression almost liquid in its sadness. "He'll come around,   
Toby. He has to...grieve a little." 

They were interrupted by a brisk tapping on the door. Toby rose as Donna entered.   
Smoothly, efficiently, she brought in a neat pile of papers and removed the sloppy mess   
from Josh's desk. "Hey, Toby," she said as she brushed past him on the way back into the   
hallway. 

"Hey, Donna. Uh, will you have a few minutes tomorrow around ten?" 

"Is that before or after Ginger and Bonnie get hold of you?" she asked, her eyes   
twinkling. 

"After. I hear you're a pretty good nurse and I might need some patching-up." 

She nodded. "I'll bring the first aid kit. Josh, you're with Onerato in twenty." She   
breezed out the door, leaving a faint scent of green tea in her wake. Josh looked after   
her, suddenly pensive, with a little frown wrinkling the corners of his mouth. 

"A nickel's worth of free advice, Josh?" 

"No." He ducked his head. "There's a guy...no. Just...no." 

"Ah." Toby scratched his chin for a moment. "I'm sorry." 

"Nah, don't be. It's okay." Josh squinted at him. "C'mon, Toby, don't turn into Leo on me.   
I'm telling you it's okay, and it's, you know, okay." 

"Okay." He stole another look at Josh's disheartened expression, and he ached along with   
him. "Josh. Friday night, you want to get a beer?" 

"Depends." Josh's countenance brightened slightly. "Is it a pity date?" 

"What other kind do you ever have, Josh?" 

Hardly anyone could make Josh laugh anymore, and the sound was sweet to Toby's ears. Even   
when Josh said, "Get the hell out of my office," there was affection in the tone that had   
been missing from Josh's voice for many, many months. 

For the first time in a year, Toby didn't see phantoms of scarlet stains on his hands. 

*** 

11:45 a.m. 

For the sin that we have sinned against thee in stubbornness or in error...   


He knocked on CJ's open door. She peered at him above the rims of her reading glasses and   
her mouth turned up in the smile that had become all too rare since the hearings had   
begun. "Hey." 

"Hey, CJ." He wandered into her office and stood in front of her desk with his hands   
clasped in front of him as if he were a penitent schoolboy. 

"Oh, no, Toby, is it that time again?" CJ asked, but there was warmth in her voice and a   
tenderness he hadn't realized he'd missed. "Time for you to lay bare your soul and leave   
me not knowing whether to forgive you or kick your ass?" 

He rocked back and forth on his heels, looking slightly away from her. If Josh was the   
most fun, then CJ was the easiest, because she never made him suffer. He could breathe   
around CJ and his palms remained mercifully dry. "Yeah, this would be the time." 

"You want to sit down, or is this the short form?" 

"I think I'd like to sit down." He sat on her sofa and slumped forward, leaning on his   
elbows and running one hand over his forehead. "CJ, I have kept you out of the loop on   
certain issues. I've forced you to do things that you believed - that you strongly felt -   
weren't in the best interest of the Communications Department or the White House. I made   
you do them anyway because I was so sure I was right." 

"Toby, if this is about Ann Stark and the press conference, or about the President's MS, I   
understand--" 

"Please, CJ, let me finish." He shifted on the sofa, turning to face her. He forced   
himself to look at her, to keep his eyes focused on the angles of her face as she favored   
him with a kind smile. "It was wrong of me, and it undervalued you and all the work you   
do." 

"I forgive you, Toby." 

He blinked at her, one finger scratching the edges of his beard. "I'm not finished." 

"Yes you are." She crossed her legs and leaned back, reaching out to pat the back of his   
hand. "It's not necessary." 

"Don't make this harder than it has to be. At least you get to do your confessing with   
some guy behind a screen. I have to stand up with a couple thousand other Jews and say it   
out loud." 

"Nonetheless, I forgive you and I'm telling you that you don't have to apologize to me for   
doing your job." 

"CJ, if you start in with 'love means never having to say you're sorry,' then I'm gonna   
wring your neck." 

Her dark, rich laughter was an unexpected gift. "We go through this every year, you and I.   
You try to apologize for a whole year's worth of belligerence, I say it's okay, then you   
keep groveling and I keep accepting until we're both hoarse. Then two weeks later we're   
yelling at each other again." 

"You know, when you say it like that, it kind of loses its holiness." 

"Seriously, Toby. We've known each other for half our lives. We've been through enough to   
know when we're just blowing off steam or genuinely trying to hurt each other's feelings.   
I know that sometimes you have to choose between what you think is best for the White   
House and what you'd really like to do because it would be good for me." 

"So...you don't mind when I go off on you?" 

"Oh, I mind. I stew and scream and slam books down on the desk. Just ask Carol how much I   
mind." 

"I'll pass on that, thanks." 

"What I'm saying," CJ continued, reaching for Toby's hand again and holding it fast,   
running her thumb between his knuckles, "is that friends make mistakes, and friends   
forgive, and friends move on." 

He wondered what it would have been like had he given in to the urges that tickled him   
every time they went out for a drink, when her eyes would light up and her hands would   
make animated shapes in the air. 

Friends. 

"So the groveling is too much, huh?" 

"No, no. Love the groveling. It's perfect. Just save it for someone you've hurt worse than   
you did me, okay?" 

"Like...Sam?" Toby asked, eyebrows arched, watching CJ's face for clues. 

"I wouldn't know. He's not talking to me much, either." She pursed her lips and looked   
down at the floor. "He'll get over it." 

"I don't know. Maybe not this time." 

"But you know what, Toby?" CJ asked as she stood up and stretched her long arms over her   
head, yawning. "He loves you anyway. You're a father to him." 

"I really didn't need to hear that, CJ." 

"Tough. Now get out of my office and go grovel to someone else. I'm done with you now." 

"Ingrate," he shot over his shoulder as he strode back toward his own office, but he knew   
she was standing there, smiling at him and shaking her head as she did every year when he   
came to unburden himself to her. 

"Just for that, Toby, you're taking me to lunch." He heard the clattering of her shoes and   
felt her shoulder nudge his. "And you can tell me all about what you're gonna say to Andi   
tonight while you're doing it." 

*** 

8:30 p.m. 

For the sin that we have sinned against thee in the evil meditations of the heart...   


Andrea Wyatt never locked the door to her apartment. "I'm in a building with security and   
a doorman, Toby," she said as she let him in, and he could feel the heat of her eyes on   
him. "It would just mean carrying around extra stuff for the keys, and you know how much I   
hate extra stuff." 

"And you know how much I hate wondering if I'm going to read about you being found dead in   
your bathtub!" He put his hands on his hips, glaring at her, feeling the old tug at his   
heart when she grinned and put her hands on his shoulders. 

"It's sweet that you worry. I'm touched. I'm aggravated, but I'm touched." She motioned   
toward the kitchen and started making coffee, pulling out two mugs and placing them next   
to the stove. "So it's already the day before Yom Kippur. What was keeping you?" 

He chuckled. "It's been a weighty year, sin-wise. You weren't at the top of my list this   
time." 

"Imagine that." She pulled her chair close to his and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I   
hardly ever saw you this year, you know that. A few meetings here and there. That night,   
at the hospital, when I was going crazy trying to find out if you were the 'senior White   
House staff member' whose name wasn't being released until the next of kin had been   
notified." 

Toby felt her shudder and he rested his cheek in her hair, taking her hand between both of   
his and smoothing it. "I appreciated that, Andi, I really did." 

"I was so relieved. I was..." She pulled up and looked at him, her eyes swimming with   
guilty tears. "I was glad that it was Josh and not you. Toby, when they said you were okay   
but that Josh might die, the only thing I felt was relief." 

"I know, I know. It's a normal reaction. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." He gave   
her a brief smile. "And I know you felt badly about it, and I thought it might help if   
you--" 

She rolled her eyes, grimacing. "You know I converted back to Christianity after the   
divorce. I don't do...this...anymore." 

"That's okay." He felt older, his joints ached, and his head throbbed despite the warmth   
of Andrea's exceptional coffee. "I'm not even sure why I do it, for all the good it does." 

"Toby!" Andrea reached for his arm and held it in her firm grasp. "If you ever gave up   
your faith, your determination to do right...I don't think the world could go on turning." 

"The world can continue to spin out of control with or without me, I would think." He   
couldn't endure the sadness in her eyes, the expression he had put there many times in the   
past. "I just came by to do the usual thing, you know, tell you I'm sorry for being such a   
schmuck." 

"Something specific, or just schmuckiness in general?" 

She could always make him laugh, bring him out of the blue-black funks that settled over   
him more and more often these days. He flashed his dimples at her as he chuckled. "General   
schmuckiness." 

"Four-star General Schmuckiness?" 

"Five-star. I'm the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Schmuck." He allowed himself to laugh   
at her joke, showing her that he could still smile. 

"I absolve you, Toby." 

He knew she did, by the tone of her voice and the warmth of her lips on his forehead as   
she gave him a chaste kiss. He adored her for her generosity, loved her from a place so   
deep in his heart that his blood sang with her name, and the song echoed long after he had   
returned her kiss and walked home alone in the night. 

*** 

Wednesday   
9:30 a.m. 

For the sin that we have sinned against thee by word of mouth...   


They had agreed to meet him in the Roosevelt Room and he found the two women sitting   
opposite one another at each head of the table. "We never get to sit here," said Bonnie,   
swinging her long legs from one side of the chair to the other. "So this time you get to   
sit in the middle. You might want to take notes." 

Toby allowed himself to smile as he lowered himself into a chair. "Do I get to make an   
opening statement?" 

"Do we have a choice?" Ginger asked, her eyebrows raised. "This being, you know, all about   
us." 

"Okay, then." Toby spread his hands out, palm downward, on the table. "I hear you made a   
list." 

"We started one," Bonnie told him, "but we didn't print it out. There's not enough paper   
in this month's allotment." 

"Ah. You're being conscientious about the environment, as always." 

"Toby." 

"Ginger, I was just saying..." 

"You meant something by that. I'm adding it to my list." 

"You didn't print the list." 

"I have it in my head." Ginger exchanged a grin with Bonnie. "But seriously, Toby,   
whatever you want to say to us, you can go ahead." 

"Will you interrupt me with baseless accusations?" 

"Probably," Bonnie admitted. 

"Well, then, how can I refuse?" He folded his hands and sat up straight, looking from one   
woman to the other as he spoke. "Ladies, you are indispensable to the operation of the   
Communications Department. I can't imagine a day without you. I can't imagine an hour   
without you. What you went through in the days after the shooting, and these last few   
weeks after the press conference...the hours you worked, the brilliant work you   
produced...I can't thank you enough." 

The corners of Bonnie's eyes crinkled as she smiled. "You're welcome to give it a try. Am   
I, right, Ginger?" 

"You're interrupting," groused Toby. "But that's okay. I wanted to say that I know I'm   
sometimes...a little difficult. I'm abrupt with you, sometimes bordering on the sarcastic.   
Sometimes, overstepping that border. More than sometimes. In fact, I can say with alarming   
certainty that a day doesn't go by when I don't manage to insult or offend at least one of   
you." 

"That's a pretty accurate assessment," Ginger said, looking at him with amusement and   
affection in her eyes. "So, cutting to the chase...?" 

"I'm sorry. I wish I could promise not to do it again, but you two know me too well for   
that. It'll happen again, and I'll apologize again, and in between, we'll get this   
administration's message out to the people." 

Bonnie got up and walked behind Toby, surprising him by wrapping her arms around his neck   
and hugging him. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" 

"Go away," Toby said, but he was smiling. He stood, watching Ginger approach him as   
uncertainly as she had the night of the shooting, and once again he held his arms open for   
her. "You go away, too," he whispered, and he heard her sniffling as she followed Bonnie   
back to their office. 

He sat down, alone, so lost in thought that he didn't notice that Donna stood like a   
spectre in the doorway. 

*** 

For the sin that we have sinned against thee by abuse of power...   


"I figured I should just catch you here. Ginger's crying, by the way." 

He sighed. "Do I need to apologize again?" 

"Nah. It's the good kind." Donna took the seat next to Toby and smiled at him. "So. What   
was it you wanted to see me about?" 

For some reason her forthright gaze was more disconcerting than Sam's seething apathy. He   
smiled briefly, needing to look away from the bright innocence of her eyes. "During this   
time of year, Jews the world over take time to reflect upon their sins against the will of   
God and also the wrongs they've done to other people." 

"Toby. It's me, Donna. You think I haven't heard this from Josh?" 

"Yeah. I forgot his love of hearing his own voice reciting facts." They shared a smile at   
that, then Toby began again. "I didn't know you very well until after the shooting, when   
you were taking care of Josh. Your rules aggravated me--" 

"You found plenty of ways around them." 

He was surprised. "How did..." 

"Toby, I slept on his sofa every night and I have a keen sense of smell. Josh doesn't   
smoke cigars, and Bonnie had given you a bottle of Santos for your birthday a couple of   
weeks before you went to Rosslyn." 

"You'd make a good detective, you know that?" 

"So I've been told. Although I have to say, I have no idea why I'm here right now." 

"It's because..." He trailed off. "There are two things. First - you came to my office   
after Thanksgiving last year and said you were worried about Josh." 

"Oh." She looked away, over his shoulder. 

"I was in the middle of about a hundred things I hated, and I was in a hurry, and I...I   
didn't pay attention. I didn't want to know." 

"You weren't the only one. Sam told me I was overreacting. He's been beating himself up   
about it ever since the day Josh yelled at the President. Even Leo didn't really take me   
seriously until then, and he's known Josh since he was born. Sometimes I don't know if I   
even take myself seriously. So it's okay, Toby, but it was sweet of you to bring it up."   
She looked and sounded like the President when she smiled at him and asked, "What's next?" 

This was the difficult part. 

"I used you, Donna. I needed Josh operating at full capacity when the MS story was about   
to break, so I took you aside and told you. It wasn't about trusting you, or sharing   
information. I didn't even pause to think that it might be too much to tell you and send   
you right back into the field, unable to talk about it to anyone. It was about keeping   
Josh at full tilt. I knew you had a good sense of what made him tick, after last December,   
and I used that knowledge without concern for what the consequences could be for you." 

"I understand, Toby. I'm not offended." 

"I appreciate that. But what's been on my mind ever since was the...grace you showed when   
I told you. How calm you were, and how concerned for the President as a man rather than as   
an office. I used you, Donna - but I also learned from you. I just wanted you to know   
that." 

Finally he looked up at her and saw that her eyes were shining. "Oh, no, you're not going   
to do that, I'm not going to have the entire support staff...doing that..." He fumbled in   
his pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to her. She dabbed at her eyes, then handed   
the square back to him. "Donna?" 

"I'm sorry. It's just that I'm not used to you being, you know, nice to me." 

"Well, don't get used to it because I have about one more sentence to say before I turn   
back into to Evil Toby again." He took a deep breath. "Josh was pissed that I told you.   
He asked me how you took it, and what I told him, I'll tell you. Donna, you put us all to   
shame with your compassion and composure. I wish I'd had the selflessness to react the way   
you did." 

The downturned mouth quivered, and she bit down on her lower lip. After a moment she   
tilted her head to one side and gave him a quavering smile. "Wow. I know why Ginger   
cried." 

"You're not--" 

"I can't. I have...this thing...later. Besides, I look like a rabid cat when my eyes are   
red." She tossed back her hair and stood up. "Thank you, Toby. I won't forget what you   
said, not even the next time you yell at me because Josh isn't where he's supposed to be." 

"Thank you, Donna. It's...a load off my mind, telling you these things." 

"Sure." She looked at him a moment longer, almost looking through him, then went back in   
the direction of Josh's office. 

Toby went back to his silent musings, not really looking at his reflection in the polished   
mahogany of the table, not really listening to the clock, not really thinking of anything   
except how good it was to be forgiven, and of the work yet to come. 

*** 

1:27 p.m. 

For the sin that we have sinned against thee by the profanation of Thy name...   


"Please remember not to use that language when you're three feet from the Oval Office,   
Toby." 

He couldn't apologize to Mrs. Landingham for the words he had used in her presence.   
Instead, he went with Charlie to her grave and stood with his hand on Charlie's shoulder   
as they looked down at the fresh carving on the family headstone. 

Over the last few months Charlie had been mourning quietly, privately, and Toby honored   
him for it. The young man had lost two mothers, in a way, and the man he looked up to like   
a father had illness gnawing away at his body and mind. Yet Charlie stood tall and proud,   
the noble lines of his face unbroken by public display of grief. 

Toby nudged the prayerbook into Charlie's hand. "I bookmarked the place," he murmured. 

"This is weird, Toby. I mean, I can't read Hebrew." 

"Most Jews can't read Hebrew, either. Show it to Josh sometime and watch his brain start   
streaming out his ears." 

Charlie looked at Toby with a combination of respect and aggravation showing in his moist   
eyes and the little curve of a smile on his lips. "You think she'd mind this?" 

"Nah. I think this would make her smile. Go on. Just read the English." 

Charlie spoke in a deep, thoughtful voice. "I thank Thee, O God, for the ties that united   
Mrs. Landingham and me in life; for the watchful intent in my welfare, the ready sympathy,   
and the many deeds of lovingkindness which bound our souls with the lasting cords of   
family love. 

"Though the bonds of affection are severed, yet strong as death is the devotion of my   
heart. And in this hour, at this grave, I would renew the sweet sentiments that bound us   
in life, and dedicate them unto the service of my fellow men. May Thy peace, O God, abide   
with us in life and in death. Amen." 

Charlie closed the little book and held it to his heart for a moment. Toby watched, his   
head slightly bowed, and waited. Kneeling, Charlie placed a little bouquet of daisies   
below the name of his mentor and friend, and Toby placed a small, smooth stone beside the   
tender floral tribute. 

"You meant a lot to her, Charlie. She loved you very much. You honored her by being a good   
and faithful friend to the President, and I think she knows she left him in good hands." 

For the first time, Toby saw Charlie shed tears. Toby said nothing, simply giving Charlie   
a moment to collect himself before leading him back to the car. They drove back toward the   
White House in a soothing silence. Only when Toby pulled into his allotted space and   
unlocked the doors did Charlie say anything, and Toby could hear the deep feeling behind   
the simple words. 

"Don't forget, Toby - the President said he and Leo can fit you in at four-thirty. And   
thanks for taking me out there." 

"You're welcome, Charlie." Toby walked slowly, entering long after Charlie had sprinted   
back into the building, and went to the Communications offices. Sam's lights were on but   
the door was shut. Toby stared at the door as if it had delivered an unexpected physical   
blow. 

*** 

4:29 p.m. 

For the sin that we have sinned against thee by disrespect for parents and teachers...   


"I'm probably wondering why you called us here today," the President said as he ushered   
Toby to a seat in the Oval Office. "Just thought, since you usually write my speeches for   
me, that I'd start yours for you. It's my puckish sense of humor." 

"Thank you, sir," Toby chuckled as he settled in the chair next to the President and   
across from Leo. "I don't want to keep you, but there are a few things--" 

"We know, Toby," Leo said, his voice kind and steady. "We've been hearing rumors about   
random acts of contrition all over the White House. Margaret had to take two boxes of   
Kleenex to the Communications Office and Donna thought Josh left the building because he   
hasn't yelled at her all afternoon." 

"So I've been doing really well, then." 

Bartlet laid a hand on Toby's arm. "I know what a proud man you are, Toby, and that it   
must cost you dearly to have to do something like this. And I'm very touched that you   
wanted to talk to Leo and me. If it'll help, then let me say in advance that you don't owe   
me any apologies for anything, and you can have a drink with me and call it a day." 

"Thank you, sir, but it doesn't really work like that." Toby was warmed by the gesture, by   
the benevolent smiles Leo and the President bestowed on him. "I know I'm often a thorn in   
your sides, and that you've come to expect that from me, but there was one occasion where   
I was particularly..." He waved his hands in the air, then folded them back in his lap.   
"...obnoxious." 

Leo compressed his lips into a tight line and looked down at the floor. Bartlet nodded,   
his hand tightening on Toby's forearm. "I don't hold any of that against you, Toby. Sure,   
I was mad as hell at first, but then I realized that you'd actually done us a favor. I   
mean, everything you said gave us a glimpse into what was coming down the pipes at us." 

"That may be true, but the overwhelming fact is that I responded to your confidence with   
self-righteous anger that had no place...that had no place in that conversation. Yes, I   
was shocked, but the things I said to you were...they were unforgivable." 

"The truth is never unforgivable, Toby," Bartlet assured him. "You didn't make anything   
up. You didn't try to cover your outrage." 

"But what I covered up was my pain, sir." He glanced at Leo, who was leaning over with his   
hand in front of his eyes. "I didn't want to be that man, the man who shouted and glowered   
and made what had to be a terrible, terrible ordeal even worse for you. I never had a   
chance to do what was right, and decent, and human, and I came here to ask you for another   
chance." 

He knew that his voice was too resonant, that he was choking back desperate emotions. He   
felt them rising to the surface as he watched Leo try to hold back his own tears. 

"Toby," Leo said, "you don't have to ask. You're walking through fire for us and you're   
doing it with your head held high and your honor intact." 

"Just say what's on your mind, son," Bartlet murmured, and Toby nearly lost his composure   
at the word he hadn't heard from any man's lips for almost ten years. 

"What I wanted to say, speaking as a man and not as the voice of the White House,   
was...that I'm actually without words. That I'm sorry that this disease has struck you,   
and even sorrier for the aftermath. I'm sorry that you had to suffer alone all this time   
when I should have been standing by your side. I should have put your suffering at the top   
of my priority list and set my asinine commentary away until you were ready to hear it."   
He paused, almost gasping for air. "Mr. President, I need you to understand that I would   
gladly take this disease in your place if God would let me." 

There was a look in Josiah Bartlet's eyes that Toby had seen only once before: when, in   
defiance of every known piece of protocol, Toby had used his White House connections to   
give a military funeral to a homeless veteran who had no connection to him other than a   
coat Toby had given to Goodwill. Toby was wrapped up in it, the pure joy of being beloved   
of this man, and his whole soul felt cleansed and purified. 

"Ah, Toby," was all the President could say, but the softness in those two words spoke   
volumes about love, forgiveness, and affection. 

Leo's eyes brimmed with tears as he leaned over and took Toby's hand. "We shook hands once   
before in this office, you and I. I've never regretted that. And I've never been more   
honored to be your colleague." 

He couldn't trust his voice, so Toby just nodded, glancing between the two men whose good   
opinion meant most to him in the world. 

Charlie opened the door at that moment and entered, handing the President a file and his   
reading glasses. Bartlet dismissed everyone with the usual wave of his hand. Behind the   
glasses, the President's eyes were bright blue and misty, matching the falling twilight.   


*** 

10:17 p.m.   


The service ended and the congregation was filing out in pensive silence. A cold front had   
blown in and the night air slapped Toby with its unexpected chill, making him wish he had   
remembered his coat, or at least his gloves. He chafed his hands together, grimacing at   
the thought of his long walk home. 

People dispersed all around him, looking for their cars or heading out on foot, and as if   
by magic he was alone on the sidewalk except for the shadowy figure in the long black   
coat, standing just out of the streetlight's halo. 

What little light there was reflected off his ink-colored hair, blown awry by the breezes   
and lack of care, and in the glint of his eyes when he lifted his head to look at Toby. 

Startled, Toby took a step backward and watched the man standing there, slouching, gloved   
hands strangely still at his side. "Sam?" 

"Hi." He took tentative steps forward. "I wasn't sure you still went here after I outed   
you to that guy." 

"Yeah. I still go here." He scratched an eyebrow with his thumbnail, needing to feel   
something sharp against his skin. "What are you doing here?" 

"I'm just, you know, hanging out." He shrugged deeper into his coat, avoiding Toby's eyes.   
"Josh said you always walk to and from Temple, and then it got cold and I thought you   
might need a lift home." 

"That...would be nice." 

"Except that my car's in the shop." 

"Your car's in the shop." 

Sam leaned back slightly. "Yeah." 

"So the offer of a ride home was purely rhetorical." 

"Yeah." He glanced away for a moment, then looked back at Toby. "Josh came to see me. He   
was rambling they way he does when he's thinking aloud, something about needing to do   
something to atone for a sin, something about wanting you to smack the environmentalists   
around and how the drop-in really had something to do about him. It was   
pretty...convoluted." 

"Josh tried to take the fall for that?" Toby felt pangs of guilt along with the   
effervescent tickle of amusement. 

"He didn't do a very good job. But he made his point. Eventually. After I did some   
interpreting." 

"You've always been able to perform closed captioning for the Josh-Impaired, Sam. It's a   
gift." 

Sam picked invisible lint off the fringe at the edge of his scarf. "Josh and I have been   
friends for a long time. I've known him...I should've seen..." He cleared his throat. "We   
spent a little time making some uncomfortable mutual apologies. And now I'm kind of in the   
groove, and I thought..." Sam paused, and Toby could hear the thickening in his voice when   
he continued. "I thought you might like...some company. While you walked. Since, you know,   
I don't have a car or anything." 

It was a boyish apology, affectionate and awkward, and Toby felt a weight being lifted   
from his heart. "I'd like that," he said, ducking his head so that he could see Sam's eyes   
glittering in the diffused halogen light. As they walked down Delaware, Toby added, "What   
I'd like even more is a coat," as he blew onto his clasped hands. 

Grinning, Sam peeled off his scarf. "My coat won't fit you. Here," he offered, sticking   
his hands into his pockets after Toby took the scarf with a nod. 

Toby wrapped the length of soft, black wool around his neck. The scarf still held heat   
from Sam's body, a transfusion of warmth from a gentleman, a gentle man who had been   
pushed beyond his limits but was returning at this sacred time. 

It was a blessing, a benediction, a new beginning for the new year, and Toby let it wash   
over him as he and Sam walked side by side and the crisp autumn leaves blew at their feet. 

***   
END   
*** 

Feedback is a blessing: marguerite@swbell.net.   
Back to West Wing. 


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